


Cracks

by Aviantei



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: AU, AU of Jokes Whims and Coincidences, Drug Abuse, Gen, One shot land
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 20:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20377297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviantei/pseuds/Aviantei
Summary: [One Shot] An old classmate of Orihara Izaya receives a visit from a man who has changed too much in the past years. This change inspires the interaction that follows as these two talk for the last time. [Inspired by noelswonderland's Seafoam; Former IzayaxOC]





	Cracks

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Jokes, Whims, & Coincidences](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20207110) by [Aviantei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviantei/pseuds/Aviantei). 

> This one shot was originally posted on fanfiction.net on July 30, 2013. I'd been reading "Seafoam" by noelswonderland (a since discontinued DRRR!! Shizaya AU that I believe isn't even online anymore), and I wanted to poke around with a similar concept within the framework of my OC from Jokes, Whims, & Coincidences. This was the result.
> 
> Trigger warnings for drug abuse.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**Cracks**

A_ Durarara!!_ One Shot

[Based off of noelswonderland’s _Seafoam_]

By: Aviantei

* * *

The young man sits in front of her, on the expensive, custom navy blue leather couch. His clothes are two sizes too big, his hair is a black mess of a bird’s nest, those once sharp brown eyes unfocused, and hickeys are displayed on his outstretched neck, slightly faded. It’s disgusting yet fascinating, and Tekichu Sosa has a swirling feeling in her stomach that suspiciously seems like the precursor to her throwing up on her own matching dark blue carpeting.

“My, my, Kohai, how the mighty have fallen,” Sosa taunts, sitting in an armchair she has pulled across the room exclusively for this occasion. Her former kohai—Orihara Izaya—mirthlessly laughs.

“You know that’s not why I’m here to talk,” he retorts, not even using anything remotely close to polite language. The woman frowns, but hides the expression behind a teacup. The liquid is hot, scolding, and almost a solid from the overload of sugar it contains.

“Have some manners, Izaya,” she scolds. “You and I were once… No, I am still your senpai.” For all her ambition, exerting the effort to attend university was something Sosa held no interest in. The fact that her high school years provided instant acceptance into Raira University only made it unnecessary. No doubt the same applied to the man she’s berating. “At the very least you could address me with _some_ respect.”

Izaya lets out another fitful laugh that dwindles into a snicker. “Oh, _Senpai_,” he coos mockingly, “_I’m_ the one who’s fallen, _surely_ it isn’t you. Since when do you care about manners? Last time we talked about this you went on for a solid twenty minutes on how ‘respect’ is another of society’s ‘goddamn useless fabrications’.”

Another drink of tea hides Sosa’s pursed lips. Usually that wouldn’t be enough to hide her furrowed eyebrows from his sharp eyes, but now he takes no notice. It’s more than plenty to hide from Izaya that the only reason why she’s bothered by the lack of respect is because it’s _him_.

“But anyway, _Senpai_,”—Sosa immediately regrets bringing it up, he doesn’t mean it at all, and he’s _nothing_ like he once was in high school—“about what I want, and the means of payment.”

Sosa smiles, and it’s the fakest expression she’s ever put on, even with her acting skill. Izaya’s dulled senses don’t notice, even when she lets out a fake giggle. “Righty-o, Kohai!” she says. “So, over the phone, you mentioned drugs, but you didn’t say anything specific about what your fix was. If you want me to get you quality goods, I need that intel!”

Izaya fakes a gasp and uses his hand to cover his mouth. “You’re so kind to actually buy it for me! Oh, but isn’t that risky, Senpai? You could get in trouble so easily. Isn’t it just better to give me the money?”

“Cheh.” Sosa can’t control the scoff. He sounds like a slightly smarter version of the rest of humanity, and a greatly stupider version of his past self. “I’m offering you raw product because it’s not an issue for me. Tell me what you’re shooting yourself up with so I can give you some.”

For a moment, there’s a tiny ounce of life in Izaya’s eyes, but the way he’s leaning across the table is so disgusting. “You have some here?” he asks, almost too excited. “But I never mentioned what drug I was on, you said it yourself…”

Sosa doesn’t even gratify his mutterings with a response. She issues a command for him to stay put and heads back to her bedroom. When she returns, she’s carrying a metal suitcase that is placed on the coffee table and opened up. “So which one is it?”

“Wow, I’m impressed, Senpai~,” Izaya says, the awe in his voiced almost genuine. There’s no answer spoken as his eyes graze over the assortment of drugs, but Sosa can see his eyes keep flicking back to a particular syringe. “Maybe I can take lessons from you. If you’re into this much stuff, how do you seem like you’re happier than I am? Must be those doctor parents of yours—”

“Because in my case it’s recreation, not an addiction. That’s all.” Fortunately the words sound more like a calculated insult instead of the expression of her surfacing annoyance it truly is. Even so, Izaya’s expression is even more sickening than it was when started their meeting that Sosa snatches the dosage he’s been eying with increasing lust out of her kohai’s grasp. She wields the syringe expertly, flicking the plastic a few times to prepare its contents. “So this is it, huh?”

Izaya’s sleeve is already rolled up, and he’s tying one of the rubber bands from the suitcase around his arm. “Ooh, are you gonna do me the honors of giving me the dosage yourself?” He giggles. “Exciting, Senpai~.” Sosa’s control of her expression must be slipping, because even Izaya takes notice, even if he has the wrong idea. “Would you like to discuss payment beforehand?”

Sosa doesn’t need to discuss anything to know how this is going to end. He started out asking for money, so he doesn’t have enough. The fading bruises—didn’t she cause things like that once?—that he displays tell the rest. The unnecessary epilogue is the look on his face as he leans towards her.

“I have no interest in such things, as you should remember,” Sosa rejects. It’s reflexive, almost out of fear.

“Haha, I know that’s a lie,” Izaya retorts just as quickly. “You may have _tsun tsun’d _all over the place about it, but you really did enjoy it. Come on, it’ll be just like old times. Don’t you miss it at all, _Senpai_?”

His voice drops dangerously low into the seductive range for the last word, but it’s such a pale imitation of what it used to be. Izaya draws even closer, and Sosa finds that her only retaliation is to stab the ready needle into his arm.

It borders on an act of violence. There’s a flicker of surprise on his features. Too bad the bags under his eyes ruin it; he’s close enough that everything about him that’s sickening is blocked from her vision. “It’s free of charge,” Sosa finally chokes out.

She presses, and Izaya’s expression is one of pure bliss _(Oh, Senpai, you’ve gotten quite good at this)_ as the drug enters his system. It’s a feeling Sosa can at least partway understand, but only that first rush of a drug. The relief it must be applying to his withdrawal is something completely different. It’s foreign.

Just like the shell of a man that sits before her.

When Izaya opens his eyes again, pupils are dilated. No, he’s not Izaya anymore. He hasn’t been for the past year or so. She’s just been in stupid, sickening denial.

“I suppose that means you’re done with me.” Izaya stands up as he speaks, and Sosa can only look up at him at first. Then she can’t stand the idea of him being above her anymore, and forces her legs to function. She frowns. He’s taller than her [and that once wasn’t the case]. “Thank you so much for the hit, Sempai.”

Sosa has so much she wants to say. Part of her wants to ask exactly what happened. Another wants to pretend like it’s still high school, and they’re still together. And, even if it’s not really words, part of her still wants to puke.

“Need I remind you that I am in no way a drug dealer, let alone a loan agency,” she ultimately says. “If that’s all you want from me, you’ll find you have no business here.”

Izaya happily goes to the door, and Sosa follows as he exits. The man gives a mockery of a bow in her direction. “Meaning if I want something else, there’s the possibility I may be welcome,” he remarks. It seems as if the drugs give him some of his old edge back.

He doesn’t elaborate further, but turns to walk down the hallway and away from her apartment. Sosa’s hand grips on the doorknob. Even a [more than likely borrowed] belt can’t stop his pants from sagging. It’s so startling different from her memory that all she can do is pretend.

“Hey, Kohai.”

He looks back over his shoulder. For a second it seems like it’s really him; that he is Orihara Izaya, and Tekichu Sosa is about to say the same thing she always does to him — words she won’t ever dare to say to anyone else.

The moment is beautiful and it holds until she remembers the truth.

It may be a reflection of the past, but the mirror is broken. Cracks line its surface, distorting reality. Or perhaps now is what is correct and the distorted reflection is the past. Either way, they aren’t the same.

And neither is he. He’s no longer wonderful. He’s just as cracked as everything else right now. He’s fallen to the point that he has become like the rest of humanity.

And so, just like every other human—

“I hate you.”

Tekichu Sosa slams the door, putting an end to the final conversation she will ever have with Orihara Izaya.


End file.
